I didn’t want to write this yesterday and I still don’t really want to write it today.

I hate this. I really fucking hate this. It feels debilitating and so sticky and like it’ll never go away. The feeling of being wrong grows with shame, some days till its an inferno in my belly. Other days it’s quieter, but it is always there, waiting for the smallest slight, the side glance from somebody on the street that you’ve never even met, that you take as utter disgust. The laughter that you assume is about you, the comments, the nitpicking that you take on as fundamental flaws of your person. The sideways glances, the people ignoring you, the people secluding you, that are actually only not inviting you because you’re so closed off and putting up your ‘don’t come near me walls’ without even realising you’re doing so.

Its the people that are meant to love you and build you up and support you, and help you grow and watch you thrive, that tell you you’re too fat, too dumb, not funny enough, not pretty enough, not sporty enough, you laugh weirdly, you’re too shy, you’re too much of a tomboy… ‘what’re you wearing? Go change’, ‘your hair looks ridiculous, go brush it’, ‘is that a boy?’, ‘stop sucking your thumb, you’re not a baby’, ‘don’t cry, you’re being stupid’, (halfway through telling something important as a kid) ‘that’s nice, now just go upstairs and do x y or z’, ‘why do you have to do that?! What’s wrong with you?’, ‘this is your fault, just go upstairs’, ‘if you tell him we’ll get divorced and it’ll be all your fault. Is that what you want?’, ‘shut up and stop being stupid and help’, ‘why don’t you have a boyfriend?’, ‘why don’t you ever tell me stuff?’, ‘why are you so secretive?’…. This list is far from exhaustive.

Its the lack of interest or care. Its putting yourself to bed at 7 years old, because they won’t. It’s becoming independent and closed off because anything else is unsafe. It’s wondering why your siblings are more important than you. It’s trying to deal with abuse and bullying and wishing you were dead all on your own, because you’d only be laughed at. It’s being mocked by multiple members of your family all at the same time. It’s crying yourself to sleep at night.

Its grown up in my body as I’ve grown up… Planted early on, and fed the best nutrients as I’ve grown. Its been fed so much that I now can’t believe anything else. It’s now so inherent, that even the slightest glance or laughter or annoyance is taken on as evidence of my wrongness. Its taking on things that have nothing to do with me, from family and friends and even strangers, just because I’m constantly searching, constantly adding to the pile of evidence without even realising I am.

It gets in the way of fucking everything. It’s debilitating, it’s terrible. So so terrible.

I go to therapy and tell her that I don’t deserve her time. How could I, when I’m so unworthy of attention or care? And oh my, love from friends…? How on earth do you let that in when you know they’re mistaken about you and one day they’ll realise it and take it all back?

And yet somehow I have, over the years. The small comments and actions of worthiness have sometimes been let in and believed, and yet I really don’t think there will ever be enough of them to counteract it, or even make a dent in it.

It has to come from me, the belief of worthiness, of not being wrong, and yet how can I when if my brain and stomach and heart aren’t in total agreement of my wrongness, are at total odds, one shouting one thing and one the other. The one with the most evidence always wins.

I hate this, I can’t tell you how much.

And im not reading over this, I don’t want to… So I’m going to just hope it makes sense, and I’m sorry for any typos, and I’m sorry its so so whingy.

2 thoughts on “Wrong

  1. this filled my eyes with tears. thinking of you writing it…knowing you were writing it just a short time ago…on this night, when we’ve had such a struggle…oh friend.

    it *is* debilitating and terrible, in its loudness, its surety, its confidence. it is sticky and it is in our blood and bones and i hate it, too. and god, they were so, so mean. there was no need to be like that, none. we were little. we were learning.

    you’re not a mistake or wrong to me. that’s not what i think or feel. i know it doesn’t matter a whole lot when we’re in the thick of it, when our wrongness is roaring furiously in our ears…but i just want it here, for you to read again sometime. you’re the friend for me. the right one, even if you make mistakes, even if you stumble. i don’t find you wrong. i find you just right.


    • I was mainly thinking of me with those things, but one popped into my head which was one of yours, that they said to you, and I wrote that down too. I just hate it. And I hate that you know it too, and just ugh.

      You’re the friend for me too. For me, you’re just right, nothing to change or fix, perfect as you are. And that is the case always, no matter how bad things are between us. We both make mistakes, that’s human, and those mistakes aren’t because we’re wrong (saying it, and trying hard to let my body hear it and not shout back at my brain), they’re just because it’s hard sometimes, and we’re human.

      Loving you. Hoping you’re asleep


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